


Runs in the Family

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Series: Burden [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Dark Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Sans is still hashtag relatable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he squints, he can pretend that’s a smile on her face, and everything’s fine.</p>
<p>Nothing’s missing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Papyrus uses the ‘f’ word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawnwards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnwards/gifts).



> I wasn’t going to continue this, but then I had ideas. And then renrink and artatetheartist wouldn’t stop posting cute things so I guess this is now their fault. Yeah. Let’s go with that.
> 
> That and my obsession with Frisk whatever okay. Dedicated to Dawn; happy birthday darling! And a big thanks to Ren and their lovely artist friend (I’m just going to call you General Bacon Nerd because I couldn’t find your name anywhere whoops).

 

* * *

 

He really thought he knew what it meant to persevere through the hardest of trials. There’s enough foggy memories there to lend him a clear enough picture of all the things that could have been, and boy, talk about the things that could wake a skeleton up in a cold sweat. Too many what ifs, there. Too many _whys._

This situation also calls for a _why._ A great big _why_ as he folds his arms and musters up the least impressed expression possible, well aware that the mutinous glare he’s getting in turn is probably twice as effective.

Kid’s hanging off the ceiling fan like some kind of clothed monkey, and he’s seen it too many times to get stuck on the question of how they keep managing this.

“You’re gonna get tired sometime, bucko.”

“ _No._ ”

“Yup.” Shrugging his shoulders, he takes a seat back on the couch; kind of a new one, actually. Idly stuffing a slip of bedsheet back down the side of the cushions, he roots around for the remote for a while, humming in pleasant surprise when the venture also gains him about five dollars in change and half a hot dog. God (yeah, he figured that word out pretty fast) knows how long it’s been there for.

 

He takes a bite out of it anyway.

 

“See, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna fall eventually-” Frisk whines, a loud _noooo_ that goes completely ignored. “And I’m gonna catch you. And then you’re gonna have a bath before your mom gets home and has to deal with that on top of everything else.”

Sure does sound like that chorus of _nooooo’_ s is getting louder.

Weird kid. He supposes, as he flicks the television onto a random channel and finishes off his ‘dog, that he should be grateful. It’s taken time and attention to get this kid to share their likes and dislikes, to actually think that their voice is allowed to be heard. Heaven forbid their parents ever come knockin’.

He’d like to know the story behind why Frisk is this adamant against sitting in a shallow pool of water.

There’s a couple stories like that he’d love to get to the bottom of, actually. Questions that don’t line up with their time in the Underground.

The ceiling fan squeaks ominously.

“...Right. How about a compromise, kiddo? We’ll try for a shower instead.” Frisk makes a face at him. It should be them caving, not the other way around. “And if you’re down before I count to ten, I’ll show you that trick again.”

That’s the ticket. Sans doesn’t even finish counting the one before he’s shooting out of his seat to catch _one_ dead weight of a nine year old, grunting with the _effort._ If he had eyes, he’d be rolling them.

Every time, kid. Every time.

Attempts at effort aside, he’s not about to march them up the stairs. The two go sprawling out over the lounge room floor, and somewhere between the moment where his ankles are round his skull and Frisk’s ramming an arm between his ribcage, they wind up in the upstairs corridor. Makes things easier. Helps that the kid loves it.

It puts them in a much better mood to do what they gotta do, dunkle Sans sitting on the toilet and flicking through a newspaper the entire time. He hands them a towel, skips the extra steps out the door and somehow manages to get them both stuck in Frisk’s closet, instead. He meant to do that.

Their giggles tell him that they definitely believe him, when he says so.

It’s a little too warm for adorable onesies, so he lets Frisk pick out whatever they’re feeling tonight. Apparently it’s one of those little nightgowns Tori picked up, the purple one with pink flowers all over it. Squint and they’re yellow.

Too many things unsettle him around this kid. He’s big boned enough to push past it.

They fall asleep in his lap somewhere around the second time they force him through another talking animal cartoon (he still doesn’t understand the appeal), and Sans leaves them there, for a while. No reason to move them when they’re settled; when they’re at peace. He’s done enough late night monitoring of their sleeping habits to know the moments where they actually _stay still_ are few and far between, and he realises he forgot to get them to brush their hair and teeth at about the same time he tries to run his fingers through their hair and finds a million tangles getting stuck in the joints.

Really. Who lets him babysit this kid alone?

Ah. He didn’t show them that trick, either. Tomorrow, he promises himself, slowly attempting to dislodge his hand from Frisk’s mess of hair. He’ll show ‘em tomorrow.

That’s a promise he can keep, right?

 

* * *

 

Tori gets home just past midnight, and he’s gotta be honest with himself; Sans doesn’t think the current schedule is doing her much favors. As good as it was for her to go after her dreams; pick up a dying school and rebuild the place from the ground up, be the teacher she always wanted to be, the world wasn’t ready to leave monsters well enough alone.

They probably never would be. And there’s a hell of a lot of things Frisk is too young to be dealing with alone- at all, even. Conference calls at odd hours with countries he couldn’t name or point out on a map, made all the longer as interpreters take their damn time having a five minute conversation just to get back to you with a _they said yes._ Which is, heh, all fine and dandy.

Just don’t bother asking them what the other four minutes and fifty seconds were about.

She looks tired. He’s ready for that. By the time she’s putting her coat up on the hooks by the door, he’s already got the kettle boiled and a cup out on the counter. Knows better than to try and actually make it for her; those Dreemurr’s, they, uh. They’re pretty particular with their tea.

“Thank you, Sans.” She says to him, and he can tell she means it with every fibre of her exhausted being. Not a minute later and she’s joining him at the table, and he sneaks a few glances her way as she peers almost absent-mindedly into her cup.

No frown, tonight.

“Gonna take it tonight wasn’t too bad?”

“We’re starting to come closer to a compromise that everyone can agree on, yes.” He had no idea what they were arguing about this time, so he just nods agreeably. Humans. Everything from birth certificates to license permits, and they get themselves up in arms.

If only throwing a cute kid in front of the media every once in awhile actually solved more problems than it caused.

They sit in silence after that, for a good long while. He’s pretty sure her tea’s cold, but now and again she takes a tiny sip, and he reciprocates by slurping up his, er, condiment of the evening. Tonight it’s Worcestershire. Nothing wrong with a little bit of tang. Keeps him sharp.

Reminds him that now and again, he does actually need to stop staring at her. That’s just creepy. It’s a bad habit he really needs to get himself out of, but hell.

He can’t help it, sometimes. She attracts…stares.

Mostly from him. Sans isn’t going to think too hard about that one.

“How was Frisk, tonight?” Her soft intrusion into his thoughts has him coming back to her gaze steadily meeting his own; which. Uh. Not for nothing, but that isn’t an indication that he’s broken that bad habit at all.

Still, he’s nothing if not the epitome of chill, raising his shoulder bones in a shrug, and-

Sticking one of his fingers in his cup.

Note to self; habits. Stopping. Get on that.

“Eh, they were fine.” He grins, like he isn’t always grinning, and tips his head upwards in the general direction of their room. “Out like a light by eight-thirty; no problems yet. Kiddo’s gonna be pretty happy to have you all to themselves, tomorrow.”

Saturday. And on the seventh day, God said rest. Whatever it is humans had come up with to excuse themselves. Whatever meant Tori actually got a break. She’s been struggling, recently.

She hasn’t tried cracking a pun on him yet, so she’s more tired than she’s letting on. And she’s letting on plenty.

“It will be good to see them, yes.” She sighs, smile rueful. Still nursing a cup of cold tea. Surely that doesn’t taste all that good. “Our time this week has been short. Although, you won’t be joining us..?”

He could pretend she looked a little disappointed, or he could stay realistic. His mind really likes the former for whatever reason.

“Nah, figure I should head home. Check up on Paps.” Tori does smile, at that. Maybe she isn’t that disappointed, after all. Now he is.

“Be sure to give him our love. And tell him to visit soon; Frisk misses him.” Now that he doubts. Not out of any lack of care on Frisk’s part, but they don’t complain about people’s absences. They just let themselves slot back into place whenever they’re around.

Pretty sure there’s only one person that kid is genuinely missing, and there’s not a lot he or anyone else can do about that. Can’t say they’re the only one who misses that kid, though _why_ they miss him is just another _why_ to the ever growing _why_ pile.

Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut. Thoughts like those are the ones that get Sans in trouble; probably because Tori thinks he’s not looking hard enough. To his credit, he’s looking plenty hard at Frisk, just not from the same angles. Go through the Underground enough times, you grow facets.

He’s fairly certain he hasn’t come across the worst of those, yet.

Frisk almost starts screaming on cue. He watches Toriel get up from her chair several times, before quietly ducking out under the table. She doesn’t notice. If she ever has, she’s never commented, and that’s the way he’d like it to stay.

The important part is that by the time she gets to the doorway of her child’s room, her shoulders are already sagging in relief. And he can quietly count his blessings as his sins crawl right down his spine, because tonight isn’t a _don’t let go_ night.

 

 

 

It’s a _don’t kill me_ one, instead.

 

* * *

 

Nine months on the surface changes a lot of things. The more time passes, the more spread out the community of the Underground seems to get. The less familiar faces greet him at the bar as one or another monster finally gets their papers and takes off to see as much of the world as possible.

He’s got an inkling that, even if things continue on this way? They’ll all end up back here eventually. Mt Ebott is close by, for the monsters who had decided to go back down- too overwhelmed by the space, too stuck in old habits, whatever. Those who wanted to settle for the purposes of children, or age, or any other particular train of thought are here too. New New Home, as most have jokingly come to call it.

Or not jokingly. King still isn’t great with names, even if he himself is king in name only, these days.

It was only right that he and Papyrus would settle, as well. Or rather- Papyrus would settle wherever his friends may be, and Sans would follow. The two had a nice little apartment to themselves (a little more in the thick of town than Tori’s joint), and it was as swinging a bachelor’s pad as one would expect from them.

Mostly because all of their furnishings from Snowdin had somehow casually made their way up to the surface overnight. Go figure.

He’s not expecting any different when he walks through the closet door into their living space, and at first glance, Sans receives just that. Same couch. Same kitchen, spotlessly clean and still hanging grimly onto the faint smell of pasta.

And that’s around about where the first glance lack of differences ends.

“Uh…” Papyrus has...interesting tastes. For sure. He’s still wearing his ‘battle body’ almost daily, with very few exceptions. Still. The leopard-print rug currently drawing his eye is...possibly wide out of that taste spectrum. “Papyrus?”

Almost immediately, his brother pops his head out of his bedroom door, voice booming in greeting. “Hello, brother! You should have told me you were visiting today; I could have made you something.”

“ _Uh_ …”

“In fact, I, the great Papyrus, will make you something now!” He feels displaced, watching Papyrus march through the lounge. Even more so when he deftly walks around a cat statue sitting soundly at the edge of the kitchen door; like it’s been there long enough for him to unconsciously recognize the hazard it presents. Like it’s been there all along.

It has most certainly _not_ been there all along.

“Still, a phone call wouldn’t have been difficult. You can’t have gotten so lazy that pressing a few buttons is enough to...” As his brother continues to rattle on, Sans...follows, gamely enough. Eyes still running over every little difference in the place; like the fact that they have checkered tea towels now. A coffee machine.

The bright red baking tray Pap fishes out of the cupboard is the tipping point. Not the rug, not the _cat statue._ The bright red baking tray.

“Pap?”

“You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?!” His brother makes the face he always does when he’s trying to roll his eyes, filling up a pot with far too much water, dumping the spaghetti in before letting the contents come to a boil. “Yes, Sans? _I’m_ listening.”

“You uh… you felt like decorating, bro?” Papyrus stares at him, clearly not comprehending, and Sans waves a hand at- some of the _stuff,_ smile almost nervous. “I thought we talked about how bad caffeine was for your uh, bones.”

Or his bones, seeing as how Papyrus without caffeine could still run rampant for days before he decided to settle down in his car bed.

“Sans-” Papyrus starts; he almost looks serious, and in turn Sans can feel the sweat beading on his brow; unexpected stress causing his magic (ie; everything he was made of) haywire. There’s a million and one scenarios to this, each and every one getting worse as his mind makes sure to cover all of them. “I believe I may have forgotten to tell you some very important news.”

The taller skeleton beams. The smaller makes a good attempt at trying not to faint. If you ask him, he does a pretty good job of that.

“As of last week, I, the great Papyrus, have found myself a roommate!”

“ _Uh-_ ” That’s a problem, right? Obvious problem aside, it’s not expected. A spouse, maybe. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Bunk buddy.

Roommate? It takes a fair bit of _something,_ to render him speechless. Papyrus manages that for a good few seconds, still gazing at him in buoyant expectancy; gold star goes there, right on his forehead. “Guess I’m a little _floored_ , Pap. _House_ that working out when we’ve only got two rooms?”

That earns him a disgusted noise as Papyrus throws up his arms and goes back to his spaghetti; a bit more on the nose and a bit more routine, something to relax to. Kind of. “Of course we only have two rooms. Grillby has taken up your old one.”

“My old one?” Hold the phone. Phones. Hold every phone. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Sans leans against the wall. Pretty sure that’s sweat collecting on his ribs now, too. “Buddy, I still live here.”

“Correction!” Papyrus- corrects, finger pointing upwards with a significant amount of flourish. “You live with Toriel and Frisk! In fact, I was supposed to talk to you about paying our rent… neither of us can find any of the bills.”

Because they’re already paid for. Like the car; like the insurance on both. He may leave all the junk mail out on display (another missing aspect to their coffee table, now that he thinks about it) but if there’s one thing he does best, it’s provide. Quietly. It helped to take advantage of foreign currency exchange before the money they’d relied on their entire life was worth as much as Monopoly bills. And Paps is- Paps isn’t unassuming or blind, but you grow up with something, you don’t take note of it. It’s a preference of character.

The worst part is- he’s well aware that thinking about the bills is just a good excuse not to consider the rest of that statement.

“Ah...I’ll have to check my mail. Get back to you on that one.” He rubs the back of his head; right at the base of his spine, and the grating noise irritates him more than it should. “That first part, though. You know me and Tori-”

“Are working very hard to provide the human with an optimal family environment!” Papyrus finishes helpfully. Unhelpfully. The pasta is definitely boiling now, though his brother is far too focused on creating the sauce to mind. A twitch of his wrist and stove is off, at least. Soggy is better than burnt. “Fathers are very important figures within human culture! So says Oprah; it’s one of my new favorite shows.”

Papyrus has his back to him, which means he misses out on the look of growing horror on Sans’ face. Which means he keeps talking, as he does. Which, by extension, adds to the horror.

It’s not a great cycle.

“The point of the matter, brother, is that you are working hard for a good cause! Possibly for the first time ever! Providing as a father would is a valiant deed, and not one that has gone unnoticed! It is a new direction in your life- and mine as well! Did you know that tomatoes...are very expensive? And pasta is not! Nyeh! Humans! Both should be equally expensive!”

“Pretty cool, Pap.” Or it would be, if he’d actually heard anything beyond the big F. The big D. The-

Aw, hell. A nervous chuckle, and he pushes himself off the wall. “You know what bro? I’m just gonna wait on the couch. Lease I can do is get a nap in before some grub.”

He sidesteps the indignant squawking, is out the door before a response is formulated, and doesn’t actually hear any of the words being said. His phone is out the next second, fingers flying across the keys with dexterity he never would’ve guessed he had-

 

[#727] hey tor

[#727] staying at paps tonight

[#727] got some stuff that needs sorting out

 

 

But it’s funny what comes out of you when you’re running away.

 

* * *

 

[#686] Sans. It has been a week since we’ve seen you.

 

The glow from the screen is the only source of light in the room, aside from the small, red dot on the front of the television. Couch is just about as comfortable as it ever has been; about as comfortable as it was when he’d flopped down onto it seven days ago. Hasn’t been much reason to get up since.

Papyrus is irritated at him, for sure. Mostly because he hasn’t changed his clothes once during that time period, but...heh. All his clothes are at Tori’s. Must’ve happened at some point, when she’d been so insistent about washing his things for him.

 

[#686] Please text me soon; let us know how you are doing.

[#686] Frisk also sends their love. They have been very quiet this week.

 

Grillby’s had nothing to say about it. Aside from the faint fizzles and pops of greeting now and again, the man pops in and out of the apartment irregularly, most often holing himself up in his room. Sans’ room. For what it’s worth, he’s not too keen on exploring how that space has changed. The barman’s tastes are… pretty well on display, as is.

 

[#686] They miss you.

 

He’s read these texts too many times, today. Tori sent them this morning, and it’s...well, it’s getting late. She’s probably in the middle of tucking Frisk into bed...or possibly, she’s only just driving them home.

There’s a twist of guilt there, somewhere in the absence of what would be a stomach. But it’s easy enough to ignore; he doesn’t owe Tori an explanation. Didn’t really even owe her a text, at that. He’s shot off one or two here and there though, just to let her know; _nope, still not coming back yet. It’s probably nothing, but it’s definitely something. Don’t worry about it._

She’s a teacher, not a moron. Doubtless she gets that there’s something wrong. Yet she’s not asking, and he’s not telling, and the whole thing is… yeah, it’s pretty up there on his list of improbable outcomes.

_Hey Tori, funny thing. My brother reckons I’m your kid’s father; pretty great, right? Also, I’ve just updated my living status to ‘couch surfing’. Call it a lifestyle choice._

Yup. That’ll go down like a knife to the side.

The little numbers at the top of his phone judge him, just a little bit. Squinting at them, he verifies- 19:00 isn’t late; isn’t even close to Frisk’s bed time. He has the time to text. Or apologise. Or even get off his ass and actually head on back over; make like the week’s never happened or nothing’s changed...at least until the kid’s in bed, and their mom wants a word.

Oh boy.

Sitting up is a start, Sans supposes. It’s not off the couch, and it’s not where he actually should be right now, but it’s a start. Gotta consider his options here… there’s no sauce in the fridge. There was. He’d run out come day two. A quick skip down to the corner store and he’d have aplenty, but he’s really not in the mood to deal with humans, at the moment. There’s only so much latent staring a guy can take.

Plan B it is then. All he really does is let himself fall off the couch, blinking away the sudden lights as the sounds and smells of Grillbys hits his senses. Pushing himself upright on his stool, he waves the monster himself over.

Not one, but two bottles of ketchup hit the bench in front of him a moment later, fire crackling in hisses and pops.

“Heh, yeah. Just on my tab, Grilby.”

The flames surge, a little more insistent, and Sans...well. What’s a guy to do when he gets _that_ sort of threat?

“I s’pose that works out, then. Just put the rent into my tab. Keeps Papyrus happy too, huh?” He pauses for a moment, listening carefully. “...Yeah, well. The things he don’t gotta know. It’s for the better.”

“Hey, Sansy!” A shriek of delight over the music. He tosses a grin over his shoulder, but leaves it at that. Can’t walk out of a conversation with the guy supplying all his meals.

...Some of them. On the rare occasion, over the past few months. Grillby stares at him expectantly.

“Course I did. I had my eyes open the whole time- well, most of the time. Sleep’s a national treasure.” He makes to wink; doesn’t actually manage it. So instead there’s just a short pause and a lot of staring, heh. Whoops. “But I still see it. Stuff like...I dunno. Kid knows exactly where to find me after school, these days. Figured out I’m good with maths problems, too. And Tori...y’know, she bought this couch. Fold out, nice new mattress. Clean sheets twice a week.”

....

“I uh. I stuff the sheets under the couch cushions. Just so, y’know, she thinks I actually use it.”

Silence. Aside from the jukebox, playing away in the corner. He thinks it’s been playing the exact same song on repeat for at least five years now, but it’s always hard to tell. Eventually, things just get tuned out.

“Look,I get it. Things change, all of that. We all knew it’d get hairy once we got up to the surface, but- ah. Some changes you just aren’t ready for, you get me?”

...He supposes, from an outsider's point of view, the following motivational speech would sound a little like a fire place after a new log gets chucked on it, sans some...translations. That’s what you get for being nosy. A half heard conversation.

 

Heh.

 

“...Thanks. Grilbz. S’alright with you though, I think I’m gonna stick around for a while. Finish these up.” Waste not, want not. It doesn’t seem to be answer enough, so with a reluctant sigh, Sans embellishes further. “So you uh, you might want to leave me to it. Don’t want to make me late for tucking my kid in, right?”

Magic words, right there. His brother’s roommate goes back to work, and Sans is left with two bottles of ketchup...and no tab. Kind of nice, having all this money to spend on himself. Got at least a decade's worth of free food to look forward to.

...He’s really not feeling the sauce. At all. Funny how something free is much less appealing than the type that comes along with what could possibly be crippling debt. Sighing, he at least means to pocket them for later; hand pausing midway when his phone rings. Not buzzes, but rings. There’s three people in the world who have personalized ringtones; only one of them has goats screaming a rendition of jingle bells.

To his credit, she’d thought it was funny too.

Accepting the call, he starts formulating it all. A ‘hey Tori’, to start. An apology, maybe. Assurance that he’ll be back home in a bit.

Except she’s crying, and he doesn’t do crying. He doesn’t do bad scenarios at all, except that in less time than it takes for his phone to hit the floor Sans is already back at the house, absently noting the lack of anyone downstairs before he’s upstairs, just like that. Not her room, because any scenario involving Tori crying won’t be there. It’ll be Frisk’s.

The lack of kid and the loud wailing gets the message across pretty quickly.

 

The note is just a bonus.

 

* * *

 

 

[Hey! Click here for more amazing spaghetti recipes!](http://lockandkeyblade.tumblr.com/) Or just my tumblr. That too. 


	2. DETERMINATION Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assumptions have been made. Screams were had. I know at least one person (ey beforuskanaya I see you there ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ) who I’m pretty sure totally knows the summation of what’s happened- but hey.
> 
> It’s not so much about the end goal, but the journey, right? I hope you enjoy this, Dawn.
> 
> Sure did just stay up till 6:30am writing this. Go me.

 

 

* * *

 

You could cut the tension filling the room with a knife.

Every seat in the already small living room is taken; not hard when there’s only three. And for once, Sans has opted to stand; sitting is reserved for the people who need it most. Asgore, practically engulfing the lazyboy with his wide frame. Alphys, two short circuits away from a nervous breakdown.

Tori next to her. In the past few hours, she’s apparently aged several more millennia, head so heavy she can’t find the strength to lift it. Worlds away from the rest of them, though Sans figures he isn’t the only one who’s taking a few guesses at where she might be. Visiting all the little ghosts in her head, making room for the potential of one more.

The note clutched between her paws is a lifeline, probably the only thing keeping her from- something altogether stupid and not worth thinking about. She’s a mom, she’s been through some times of her own. Be pretty stupid of him not to worry about her, but there’s a limit to that worry.

Still, kid could use a few more lessons in diplomacy.

 

**Mom,**

**I have to go away for a little while. But its okay, Im coming back. Please tell Sans I said he has to show me his trick when I come home.**

**Love**

**Frisk.**

 

Real reassuring there, kid. He could curse himself blue here, but, well-

Now really isn’t the time for jokes or puns. What was Frisk expecting to happen, here? Their mom reads the letter (note, really. There’s not enough written to constitute as more), nods her head, and casually continues on with life, no worries about it? No panic, no tears. No doors knocked off their hinges.

The front door crashes open almost on cue, heavy boots stomping down the hall, before...yeah, there it goes. The door is kicked off its hinges, Undyne tramping through with her expression set in a fierce scowl. Tori doesn’t even reprimand her.

...Eh...he’ll fix it later.

“Captain,” Asgore’s voice, usually deep in of itself, can no longer be defined as anything other than a low rumble. It’s the sound of defeat; expectations grim before an answers even given. “How has the search progressed?”

“Greater Dog reports that the trail has gone cold.” Undyne sounds like she’s snapping, but they all know better. Frustration is the only thing keeping her from standing still; pacing about the room as it all focuses inward. Probably feels like she’s failed them all. “Dogamy and Dogaressa verified. Kid walked eight blocks and...took the bus from there, at least three hours ago, now. Papyrus and Lesser Dog have reported similar.”

“I see.” Asgore falls silent, and no one else speaks in the interim. Sans has to say, though- “I imagine that they could have gone very far in that amount of time. This will make it far more difficult to locate them.”

He really hopes Frisk isn’t taking lessons on tact from this guy.

“Well, n-not necessarily…” Alphys mumbles, visibly shrinking as every eye in the room focuses on her. “I-if Frisk did catch a bus, a-around three hours ago? Then we could- we’d be able to-”

“Check the bus timetables, work out what bus they got on.” Sans finishes helpfully.

“Y-yes, precisely! There’s bus timetables online we could check. M-maybe we’d be able to work out where they’re uh, g-going, from those?”

She shrugs her shoulders helplessly- and Sans gives a shrug of his own at her grateful look. It’s fine. He gets it- only to squeak as Undyne swoops her up into her arms, spinning the small monster about the room.

“Alphys! _You’re a genius!!!_ ” Stopping, she holds Alphys above her head, singular eye blazing with purpose. “You can search the timetables here. Meanwhile, I call Papyrus, and we head over to the bus terminal! One of the drivers could remember seeing them!”

Even Asgore allows himself to be caught up in her zest, brightening almost immediately. “In that case, we should enact upon this plan! Perhaps, if we are able to discern the bus they have taken, we can send our people to check each stop.”

“Yeah, YEAH!!” Undyne booms, pumping her fists in the air- or rather, pumping her girlfriend in the air, who covers her face with her hands, tail tucking contritely between her legs. “I’m into it! We can contact everyone on the way so they’re set to go!”

Welp.

Seems like they’ve got everything figured out, then. He can go collect the champagne, position himself to pop the cork once they get back, conquering heroes dragging the kid in fighting tooth and nail. All’s well that ends well; they all have a big talk about things, and a smaller, yet no less important talk between three about...Notifying People Before You Go Places, all that good stuff. He’ll still get to tuck his kid in, tonight; or tomorrow morning, depending on how this takes from here.

‘Cept, there’s still one problem. And the three big planners are too caught up to notice it, but of course he does. Never stops noticing, whenever he’s in the room with her- Tori attracts stares.

And she still hasn’t lifted her head. Still clutching that note like a lifeline, because she’s clued into reality, about as much as he is. Doesn’t even have it in her to pop the bubble.

“Guys, uh,” Boy, he is not ready for this. Sans shoves his bony hands into his pockets, letting his shrug carry him a little further down the wall. Slouching once the attention turns his way. “Look, not that all of this ain’t _bus_ ting this one wide open, but… I think we should stop.”

  
  


Wow. Didn’t think it could get any quieter, in this place.

  
  


“Excuse me?” Undyne hisses. Alphys is placed back on the couch, her partner taking a few threatening steps his way. “You wanna pass that by me again, punk? Because I swear I just heard you tell us to call off the search for, and get this, a _runaway child._ ”

Who ran off on your watch, is what she doesn’t say. But it’s clear she would, if Toriel wasn’t in the room.

It’s fine. Probably deserves that one.

“Probably thinking you heard it because you did.” He retorts bluntly; yeah, really not the time for humor. His teeth are fixed into the same, constant smile as always, but he can’t imagine he looks all that relaxed, right now. Doesn’t feel it. “We should call off the search.”

“You literal piece of sh-”

“Undyne.” Asgore cuts in just as she cocks her fist, reaching across to stay her hand with an overly large paw. “We should not jump to assumptions. Does Sans not know Frisk better than most of us present?”

Most. The king in name only looks to his ex-wife, sighing heavily.

“However, I am curious, Sans, as to your reasoning. Please, do explain to us how you’ve come to such a conclusion.”

“Welp, ears the thing.” Undyne scoffs in disgust, Sans slyly glancing her way. Probably shouldn’t be poking at her temper, but she did just go to pound him into dust. She’ll live. “If this were any old kid? I’d be right there with you. Track ‘em, do it fast. But this isn’t any old kid. This is Frisk.”

The determination sensation, so to speak. He exhales, but there’s no humor to it.

“Kid said it themself, didn’t they? They got something to do. So they’re gonna do what they gotta do. We could drag ‘em back home tonight, but we’ll be right back here tomorrow. And next. Week after. That’s if we even find them in the first place; they’re uh, you know. Determined.” A lot of shrugging, happening tonight. He’ll blame Alphys on it. “They won’t stop until they’ve done whatever they think it is that needs doing, s’all I’m sayin’.”

“And you believe them, huh? That note,” Undyne gestures Toriel’s way, not taking her eyes from him. “Could be a ruse. You don’t think I know? Papyrus told me you’ve been camped out on his couch the entire week. You wanna tell us what’s happening there? Maybe they’re running away from that.”

“...Yeah.” Sans says, tone flat. “Could be.”

“I, um, d-didn’t know you were…” Alphys, at the least, has the grace to hesitate. Actually look towards the broken woman who, no matter where she was at the moment, would undoubtedly hear every word. “Having problems.”

“I was coming back tonight, actually.” Which is as much as they deserve to know, regardless of how disbelieving Undyne’s scoff may be. “Fact is, though, I know that kid. And they aren’t a liar, not like this. If they left a note, saying they have to do something? Then they’re doing something. And we all woulda been invited if they thought we could help.”

If, in the past nine months, he’d actually managed to cement the idea into their head that they really don’t have to do everything alone. He’s not sure that he has, really. Fact of the matter is it doesn’t really matter whether they could help or not; Frisk’s already made up their mind.

They’re out there already, and no one else is with them. Kind of answers the question on whether they think anyone can assist, in this scenario.

“So that’s it, then? We should just give up.” Undyne clearly isn’t thinking along the same lines. Yeah, he’s regretting the jab, now. “So what if they’re doing-whatever they think they have to do! In case it’s escaped your notice, they’re freaking nine!”

“Pretty keyed in on that one, actually-”

“Wake up, Sans! This isn’t the Underground; they could get lost! They could get _hurt, easy._ And we could stop that if we find them, before it happens!”

“Not that easy to-”

“No, it is that easy. It’s pretty fucking simple, Sans. You’re their dad, right?! So right now, this is the part where you start to give a damn!”

 

“ **Y o u ‘ r e   r e a l l y   p u s h i n g   y o u r   l u c k,   l a d y.** ”

  


Yeah, now she shuts up. Sans keeps his gaze level with hers, well aware that his expression right now? Heh. It probably doesn’t even deserve a description.

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘assuming makes an ass out of u and me’? Because you’re doing a pretty good job at being the walking, talking example of it.” She goes to retort, but he holds up a hand, putting a stop to it before it starts. “I get it; you’re pretty worried. But in case it escaped your notice...you’re not the only one. The moment I know where they are, I’ll bring ‘em home. But the only way anyone’s going to be finding that out is when Frisk is ready. So we wait. This whole search thing? It needs to be shut down, before every monster from here to Ebott is thrown into a loop.”

“Sans has a point.” Asgore muses peaceably. “At this stage, keeping Frisk’s absence between a small group of people would be for the best. The more unrest within our people, the more humans will take note.”

“A-and...well, c-considering everything, uh,” Alphys stutters out, wringing her hands. Always a little afraid to speak out when she knows her opinion is opposing her girlfriend’s, even when her words are always the ones that’ll win her over. “I th-think it’d be pretty bad if the police were involved.”

Very good point. The media storm would only be half their troubles.

Child services would be the high note.

“...Fuck.” Taking her time to step away, Undyne’s back hits the wall opposite, head making a second, loud thump as she throws it back and groans. “Are you serious right now? We’re just supposed to...do nothing?”

“Mm, could be worse.” His hand returns to his pocket, lights appearing back into his eyes as Alphys shoots him a warning look.

“Yeah? How d’you figure?”

He ignores it, of course. “You’re not hunting them down, this time.”

“OKAY, SHIT FOR BREATH, THAT’S IT-”

“Both of you, cease this squabbling.”

Sans would be thankful, if anyone but Tori was saying it. Finally, she lifts her head, and the look she gives him makes his sins crawl. Another fuck up to add to a week’s worth of ‘em. But she just sniffs, standing to her full height and squaring her shoulders; no one’s going to mention to her that she sounds hoarse, right now. And no one’ll dare bring up the redness of her eyes.

But they’re all seeing it. At the very least, he is.

“My child is missing. And whilst I am inclined to agree with Sans...I am not happy in doing so. I understand that Sans is also unhappy with the information he’s divested; as much, if not more so, than yourself. However,” Her tone sharpens; the steel of a queen who has led monsters into battles with an understanding that most would never return alive. “If you insist upon taking these aggressions out upon one another, you will leave this house to do so.”

 

This is a great time for his phone to ring. The cheerful chiptune is practically ear-splitting, Alphys and Asgore alike cringing in united sympathy against what is most likely his certain doom, but- yeah. Ain’t got time for that.

He has three people in his contacts list with personalized ringtones. One of them, he’d changed just a few hours ago. Just in case.

“I should probably take this.” He offers, but offering doesn’t mean waiting for a response. Slipping out the kitchen door and as deep into the woods as his memory allows him to go without being completely lost, Sans takes a moment, exhaling for the pure sake of watching his “breath” misting out into the chilled air.

Then he accepts the call, before it rings out.

“Heya, kiddo.”

Light breathing on the other end, a bit of static. Takes them a moment, but they sound calm enough when they finally reply. “Hi, Sans.”

They really know how to put him in the middle of a bad situation, don’t they? He closes his eyes, tries to pretend he’s not gripping the phone so hard he just heard the case crack. “How’s things?”

“Okay.” Okay. Well that’s-

“That’s good to hear, pal.” He takes a moment to consider his words, not altogether sure of how much care the situation needs right now- but it does need it. “Gave your mom a fright, you know?”

“I know.” A gust of static; less happy, but that’s okay. They kind of need to know these sorts of things; actions and consequences.

“So how’s the thing coming along? You there, yet?”

“No. Um, a few days, maybe. I have to get there and-” A long pause. He’s not the only one considering his words. “Stuff.”

“Stuff? Okay. Well, I’m not gonna keep you from your stuff, but I’ve got a question for you. Just the one.”

“Okay.”

“...This ‘stuff’ you gotta do, here.” It takes effort, not to let his tone change. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with your human family, would it?”

Because he won’t lie to them, on that one. Anything else, he’ll leave them be. That one? That’s not something he’s allowing them to go back to.

“...No.”

“Positive?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Keep me posted, and uh...hey, kid?”

“Mm?”

It’s a full moon tonight. Humans and monsters, there’s one thing they share in common. It’s that thing human scientists like to push around as a reason for superiority; the thing that separates man from animal. And monster too, at that.

They have the ability to imagine things. Seeing the moon like that, yeah, he imagines. Wonders, really, if they can see it right now. Where they’re seeing it from; out the window of a bus that’s suspiciously quiet, or somewhere else.

“I know you think that you’re responsible for a lot of people’s happiness; and I’m not saying you don’t hold a pretty big part of it, for a few. You’re you, it’s kinda your thing, but…” He has to ask them one day, if his own sighs and exhales ever cause static on their end, or if they just go completely unheard. “The great thing about having friends and family is they’re there for you. To help you do…’stuff’. You get me?”

“...I get you, dunkle Sans.”

“Be really good if you could keep that in mind when you’re ready to come home. I might know a shortcut.”

“Heh, yeah.” They’re smiling, and he hates that he knows them well enough to hear it. Hates even more that it kind of makes him want to derail this entire thing, chuck it straight into the trash and convince them to tell him precisely where they are.

But he left them for a week over ‘stuff’ that, in hindsight, wasn’t even remotely justified, so it’s not exactly fair of him to drag them back just because he’s thinking he wants them home. Because they’re not just some old kid, they’re Frisk. And it’s an entirely different ballgame that requires entirely different rules. They’re not the sort of kid who lets you drag them back home and lock their bedroom window.

 

They’re the sort of kid who rewinds time so you never find them again.

 

“Alright, welp. Call me any time, kiddo. Hate to think you got bonely, out there. I know how much you like to chat.”

God, he really does hate this. That they’re smiling; that there’s a laugh in their voice.

“A whole ton?”

That he knows them well enough to hear it.

“A skele-ton.”

That he eggs them into actually laughing like this, even when it hits him like a sledgehammer. Kid’s put him in the worst of situations, and Sans supposes he’s just like the rest of them, really. Right there with Undyne.

He wants them home, before anything else can happen to them.

 

* * *

 

 

Sans allows himself twenty minutes, post-call, to simply watch the moon and gather himself, before ducking under low hanging tree branch and straightening up from under the kitchen table. It’s gotten a lot quieter in his absence, but that’s not enough to avoid running into the only other person in the house; pretty literally, in this instance, not so much running as- slouching into Tori, right as she attempts to come through the doorway.

Her surprised huff is met by one of his own, though his hand shoots out to steady her, first. Not necessary, seeing as how quick she is to grab a hold of the doorframe, but c’mon, he’s trying, at least, taking a half step back to give her some room.

And maybe make it a little easier to see her face, height not an advantage in this.

“Party finish without me?”

“I have sent everyone home, yes. I wished to be alone.” Tori’s response is clipped, and yeah, he uh. He knows he deserves this but- confrontation isn’t his strongest point. Confrontation with Toriel is practically asking to be called, ‘suicide run’.

“S’fair. I can uh, I can head off, if you need the time.” And he can spend the rest of the night on a stool in Grillbys, thinking over all the shit he has to explain and all the shit he isn’t allowed to tell her. Like that one particular call he’s not going to be sharing anytime soon.

It takes her a long while to answer. She looks down at him; really looks down at him, for once, and again, he knows he deserves this much. Can’t even imagine how much she has to say to him; the urge to crawl back under the kitchen table is getting stronger and stronger with each passing second.

But...she doesn’t. Just sighs, closing her eyes with an expression of- something. Nine months, but it’s the first time Sans hasn’t been able to read the look on her face.

“No, Sans. You may stay, if that is what you wish to do.”

“Yeah, I like that.” An immediate response, and he’s left fumbling internally, trying to collect himself again. Twenty minutes reprieve was not enough. “If that’s good with you, I mean.”

“Yes, it is. However...I am going to attempt some work.” She waves a hand at the table; the stacks of paper and steaming cup of tea he hadn’t noticed before. “I feel that it may be best to be as on top of things as possible, as one might say it.”

“Sure, well. You know where I’ll be.” On the couch. Like the bony lump he is.

Kind of sad when the one thing he’s good at being doesn’t feel all that good, right now. But it never really feels good, even on a good day. He resists the urge to rub at the back of his skull, glancing off to the side for a moment. “Just- Tori. I uh, I get that tonight’s been pretty out there already, but I owe you a pretty big apology-”

“Please, do not.” Quick to cut him off. “Whilst I appreciate the attempt, an apology is not something I can accept from you, my friend.”

Faster to reject it entirely. She steps around him, easing into her chair with a sense of regality that’s so, terribly fragile. Her composure is in a knife’s edge; he wonders what she’s even got left to give, tonight. More tears, or screaming. It’s no good to get angry at Frisk for that; they’re a little too young for the conversation necessary, here. A little too young to imagine what it’s like to have lived as long as their mother has, and seen the things she’s seen.

He’s not much better on that front, but at least he tries. He imagines. And his imagination is pretty good.

“Yeah, okay.” Quiet; she might not have even heard him speak, but he stays by the door and watches her for a few moments longer as she rests her glasses on the curve of her snout, neatly flipping through papers with the dexterity born of experience, not slim digits that make motions such as that easy.

Moments like this- moments like this on better days, days when her exhaustion is born from being a teacher and a headmistress, a negotiator and a queen, he’s stood in this exact same position and thought pretty much the same set of things. How much she’s probably been forced to adapt to this world already; how much she’d adapted prior to him even knowing her. Even just the basics, like holding a tiny pen, leafing through a few papers.

She’s an amazing woman. And somehow, the world keeps seeing fit to keep testing her...but she’s come out stronger before. She’ll do it again. And it might be the last thing he gets to do for her, but he’ll make sure she gets her kid back as fast as said kid will allow, at least.

Shuffling out into the lounge, he looks down at the offending piece of furniture….if he had the eyebrows for it, he’d be knitting them in consternation.

Slowly, he tugs off a cushion. Then the other.

Fold out bed. It’s uh. It’s pretty heavy, but all he has to do here is tug it out. Figure out how the legs work, straighten out the sheets. His blankets and pillow would be...in the closet, under the stairs. On the shelf that both he and Frisk can reach with ease. Get those out, straighten it all up. Sleep.

He gets as far as thinking about it before Sans shoves the cushions back into place, falling into them and throwing an arm over his face; blocking out the light filtering through from the kitchen with his sleeves. Shoulders shaking with silent, self-depreciative laughter.

Lord. He’s really this much of a piece of shit, isn’t he?

 

* * *

 

They still haven’t said another word to each other by the time Toriel leaves for work, the next morning. It’s not even due to him being unconscious when she steps out the door; sleep doesn’t come, for him.

Doesn’t come for her, either. He’s concerned, but he can’t say that. Shouldn’t press her about driving right now. She’s gonna do what she’s gonna do, and...he’s going to try.

He’s not going to lay on the lounge all day. He’s going to try.

The washing machine is a thing and that’s about as far as he gets with that thing before giving it a wide berth. Nope. Not happening.

And Tori’s already sorted the dishes; but she has left her cup in the sink, so...he rinses that, a few times. Finds the dish soap under the sink and washes it properly. Doesn’t just stack it off to the side; finds a clean tea towel, dries it.

 

Yeah, okay.

This is pretty damn pointless, and he’s not helping. He actually feels _worse_ than before, and nothing is uglier than the idea of flopping back down on the couch and staring blankly at the ceiling. Or his phone.

Time for something else, then. Something he’s good at.

It takes less than a minute to duck over to Alphys’ lab and pick up a laptop. She’ll notice sooner or later, but she’s also pretty used to him taking things, from time to time, and he knows her password without having to ask.

_**MrsUndyne!!!**_ Isn’t exactly a hard one.

So, he’s not precisely good at housework. Last night, he couldn’t even find it in himself to pull out the fold out bed from the couch; the couch Tori had bought precisely for his sake, probably because, like everyone else, she’d seen and accepted what he’d refused to. That he was here more than home, now- or this was home now, whatever way people wanted to throw it at him. He’s certain someone will throw it at him again.

He’s not good at housework. Should’ve expected that when he’d rather start a post-it war with Paps than pick up a sock. But there are things he can do, pretty efficiently, with the type of accuracy that’s fucking scary, in its own right. While the kid’s away is the best time to do it.

They made it harder, of course; no missing person’s report, and no real name to search, but when he’s got nothing else going for him and a lot of time to contemplate being a gross piece of garbage the moment he stops, it’s funny just how much Sans can drag up anyway. Paps would be proud.

And he intends, once he leans back from the screen, to take care of it all straight away; get it over and, heh, dusted, but a glance at the clock has him changing his mind. Knew it was night, since...the rooms pitch black outside of the screen in front of him, but not late like...midnight.

Time flies. Tori’s not back yet.

He takes a moment to flick on a few lights before letting space and time drag him off to where he wants to go; New Hope elementary is mostly just functional, at this point. All the comfort and vibrancy saved for the classrooms and the kids. Her office is pretty substandard, no comfort to find there past a litany of children’s drawings plastering the walls, and the photograph of a smiling child Sans’ gaze carefully avoids...but she’s there, alright.

Dead to the world, but there.

If he wakes her now, Sans doubts Tori will get another wink of sleep tonight. There’s no one else in the building; wouldn’t be, at this time, and still, he glances around like there’s someone to ensure won’t see, left eye glowing blue as he lifts her keys from her pocket, calmly wanders about the place and makes sure it’s locked up. Security system’s on. Sprinklers set.

...Knows more about how this place functions than the washing machine, that’s for sure.

Then comes the hard part.

He is not a monster of...stature. So to speak. Size. Height. Wouldn’t matter if he was, because Sans is pretty sure even Paps couldn’t lift the Queen of monsters off her chair. Just to make it easier on himself, he doesn’t even try. Just rests a hand on her arm and...yeah.

She’s still sitting up, propped against the headboard of her bed, but he’s just going to have to hope she’s either comfortable enough, or that she’ll shift in her sleep, because he’s not daring enough to try using magic to move a pillow behind her head. That would mean explaining how she’d gotten here in the first place, which uh-

Which would probably include a real awkward explanation on the whys and how’s of his magic, and then. Y’know.

Why he knows the inside of her bedroom, when she always closes the door.

 

* * *

 

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten my number, kiddo.”

“Sorry.” They don’t actually sound sorry. “Saving battery.”

They sound really tired. Which, yeah, okay. He’s really tired, too. Might’ve gotten two hours sleep last night, if he was lucky, and the resulting exhaustion of withstanding what was, and continued to be, his absolute favorite pastime?

His elbow is on the armrest of the couch, skull propped up on the anterior of his metacarpals. He doesn’t have the systems necessary for an adrenalin rush, so even who he’s talking to isn’t kicking anything into place that’s keeping him more awake.

Can’t exactly fall asleep in the middle of a phone call, though.

“S’alright. I’d feel pretty _flat_ too if you finished all that ‘stuff’ of yours and couldn’t call me. Speaking of, how’s that going?’

“Um...it’s…going? I think.” Kid doesn’t sound at all sure about that, do they? Just- more tired. His imagination’s up again, giving him an image of them sitting in some nondescript location, sitting on the floor and leaning into the wall much the same way as he’s leaning into the couch.

“You think.” Sans repeats. Always wishing for those eyebrows. Maybe he’d just get himself a sharpie, one of these days. Start drawing them on. “Well, if you’re thinking it, you probably are, kid.”

“You think so?”

“Pretty sure I know so.”

“Thanks, dunkle Sans.” There’s a noise in the background; it’s loud, but it’s hard to tell if that’s Frisk, or not. “Um, I have to go soon. Is...mom okay?”

“Tori’s all good, bud. S’been a bit hectic over here, but your mom’s pretty strong. She’s not about to give up.” His fingers twitch with the urge to ruffle their hair; something. Just one, small, physical action. “And if she’s not giving up here, then you better not give up wherever you are, ok? She’s gonna be over the moon when you come home.”

Another sound, louder this time.

“I really have to go,” Frisk says firmly. All semblance of exhaustion in their voice is gone. “Soon. I promise.”

All semblance of exhaustion in him is gone, too, so that’s something. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Sans sighs, and begins day two.

First thing’s first, the washing machine. He’s got a pile of clothes that belong to him in one basket...and another, smaller pile of Frisk’s stuff that he gathers Tori just hasn’t been up to handling. Otherwise all of this would’ve been folded away by now.

He dumps them all in at the same time, lights and darks, and just to be safe, sets the water to cold, rather than risk the colors bleeding. Last thing he needs right now is to turn two of the few shirts he owns pink; kid wouldn’t care if their own stuff got the same treatment.

 

 

Remembers to actually put the washing powder in about ten minutes after the machine starts running, but hey. Better late than never.

 

And that’s the extent of his achievements, day two. The moment he’s back on the couch, he’s out until Tori shuts the front door behind her, thinking guiltily of soaked, potentially pink clothes that he’s probably gonna need to wash again before stuffing into the dryer. She almost seems surprised to see him awake, offering a cautious smile that he returns, in his own way.

“Heya. You uh…you back early?” A quick glance towards the clock on the wall. It’s only eight; early enough for her.

“Yes. I felt that tonight, I should…” Toriel pauses, seemingly lost for words. Shakes her head. “Please, come have tea with me.”

He’s only just woken up, so Sans can forgive himself for the two point something seconds in which he remains completely confused.

Then it strikes him that, yeah, he still has to explain his behavior last week, and that’s when the walk to the kitchen becomes the green mile. He mutters- something, an acceptance of sorts, and follows her through from carpet to green tile, sitting himself down and pretending to get comfortable as Tori does what she does best; bustles through the kitchen with the kind of domestic proficiency he could never hope to attain.

 

It’s twice as scary when she does all this with a kid on one hip, too.

 

She actually gives him tea, for once; setting the mug down in front of him before taking up her place in the chair opposite with her own. And that’s about it, for a good two minutes. He sips at it for want of anything better to do, looking at the slightly yellow color (he has no idea what flavor this is supposed to be) rather than letting himself get caught up in the way she’s studying him. And that’s why she’s first to set her cup down with a sigh. First to speak, as well.

“I owe you an apology, my friend.”

Come again?

“Uh- come again?” He dunks a phalanx into the tea; of course he does, but since it’s just water with some flavoring, at least he pulls it out this time. There’s sweat beading on his brow already. “Listen, Tori. If anyone here owes an apology, it’s-”

“Me. As I well know, and humbly offer.” She bows her head all too graciously, and Sans is left to stare, positively dumbstruck. He doesn’t really do...aghast, or shocked. Surprised? Sure.

But this is the first time it’s ever felt like his jaw was about to hit the ground in...a good decade, or so.

“Being on the Surface has been difficult for us all; however, I have realized and discussed with Frisk that it has been harder on you than most. Regardless of how many times you have woken my child from their nightmares...it seems you have many of your own you have been struggling with alone.”

She takes a breath, looking at him in the manner of someone who’s not done- nah, she wouldn’t be done yet, not when she’s got him by the goat, so to speak- before continuing on, voice soft.

“It did not take much to understand that this is born from experience. Whatever your past, and I do understand that it is not something you are currently willing, if ever, to share, burdens you greatly. It is understandable, with all the help you have provided to us these past months, that you would eventually need time for yourself. Frisk also understood this.”

...Is she serious?

“The timing, however...was not optimal. And I believe that was purposeful, on my child’s part. I do not believe they would have left this house had you been here, and it would be far too naive on my own part to not consider them capable of such thinking.” She smiles ruefully, sipping her tea. “I took my frustrations out on you, and that is what I wish to apologise for. I fear that I may have allowed you to be under the impression that...I am angry with you, however, that is not the case.”

“Tori…” He croaks it out, stopping immediately. Flexes the bones of his fingers and tries again, voice a little more normal, this time. Because she can’t really believe any of what she’s saying, right? It’s too much to let him off the hook for, this time. He knows that. “Look, I uh- if it’ll make you feel better, sure, I accept your apology, but- you really aren’t in the wrong, here. You got a right to be angry at the kid, sure. But you got the right to be angry at me- hell. A while back, now. I’m not exactly the best there is for-”

“You do more than you realize.” Toriel interrupts gently. And just as gently, she rests a hand over his own.

Paw. Handpaw.

The point is it’s over his own. And it ain’t moving, so best he can do is freeze up, and let her- keep running this entire conversation on her own. She’s got this, apparently. Which is great, because he doesn’t.

“Sans, my friend… the Underground was not a place that anyone should have grown in. It chills me to think of my child walking through it alone- but if simply walking through it is enough to cause me such distress, then the pressures of living within it must be doubly so. We are all...struggling, with our own wounds from those times. Some older than others. Some deeper than others.

We have yet to be upon the surface for a year. It is not unusual, or even uncommon, that as time begins to allow you the chance to be free of those demons...you are learning your own way to cope. You are beginning to move forward. Perhaps, sometimes, moving forward requires one to take a few steps back, when that movement is so foreign it becomes frightening.”

 

Silence.

For the next ten minutes, perhaps longer, they both simply sit there, perhaps equally as lost in their own thoughts. Tori’s thumb runs over his bones, back and forth in a soothing motion, as he stares at it.

He’s off the hook, apparently. And it’s not as relieving as it could be, a numbness replacing the guilt that’s kept his bones so heavy the past two days, because he’s not really off it due to anything redeemable, per say.

According to Tori? There is no hook. Because Frisk and her have apparently come to a mutual decision that they can’t expect him to be okay all the time, if at all, and apparently, accepting that means expecting setbacks.

Numb. Even more so at the slow, sinking realization that maybe, in some, twisted way, they’ve both got a point.

It’s completely true that he’s not, and never has been, okay. Problem is, seeing it from her angle, it’s less a characteristic and more...something worse.

A lot worse.

 

It’s very, really possible that he is, as she says, actually not okay.

 

* * *

 

Day three, he finishes what he started on the first day. Night time is always when these sorts of things happen, but Sans breaks the mold a bit, goes against the grain of all the film noir he’s been forced through in his lifetime.

The home itself is nothing special. Not even a home; it’s just an apartment. An apartment someone inhabits, with no signs that a second person ever took up occupancy there. A closed door that doesn’t lead into the current occupant’s bedroom is...a gym, apparently. A cheap one; the treadmill is tacky as all hell.

But he isn’t here to pick at the state of exercise equipment.

Eight am, and Tori’s at work. Has been for a few hours. Kid would be at school by now too, but they’re not. Now and again the whole ambassador business has them run so ragged they get sent home with threatening letters about all the days they’ve missed, resulting in a flurry of activity to get them caught up so they won’t be repeating a grade, alienated more than their status has already made them be.

Weeks like that are always hell. The kid stops getting a few hours to be a kid, and its all ambassador this, study that. Not often that he pulls a smile out of them, on those weeks.

His kid...yeah. _His kid_ is a little on the weird side. Has been weird from the moment they stepped out into the snow from behind large, stone doors, and before that, when they fell down into a place that was pretty anti-everything about them. Before that, too, when they took a hike up a mountain...or were dragged up a mountain. Before that, when that jungle gym of a room was their home.

Where they learned such concepts as- nothing they say has any meaning, so better to speak as little as possible. Never to garner any attention if they know what’s good for them. Not to complain about missing people, no matter how long they’re gone.

 

How to be absolutely petrified of bathtubs, no matter how shallow the water is.

 

Usually, Sans would offer some words. Reinforce an idea or some advice on how all of this could be different, how improvements could be made. He’s not exactly out to make anyone have a bad time; he just likes ensuring that the people he care about have a good one.

His kid’s been missing, going on three days.

And Sans can’t seem to find any words for fixing this mess; he’s been wanting to for a good while, so if his kid really has to be missing, he might as well take advantage of the moment. Deal with some old garbage.

He takes a hold of said garbage and tosses it into the middle of the ocean somewhere, flings a few personal items after it for good measure. Wallet, car keys. Car. People go missing all the time; it’s a big, scary world, and even if something were to find whatever’s left of it once...days and days of being out at sea take their toll, well. Tides are funny things.

And google maps are really handy.

...Right. So he’d be lying if he said he had nothing to say, at the end. At the start, just before he’d ducked underwater and left it to fend for itself. ‘Cause see, perhaps, sometimes, moving forward requires one to take a few steps back, when that movement is so foreign it becomes frightening.

And sometimes, memories run deep. Real deep. And he’s never forgotten that promise he made back then, with a screaming kid in his arms, to do whatever it took. No matter how long it took, no matter how deep he had to dig. Someone was going to die over what he’d heard that night, whether the context proved to be correct or not, because he never wants to hear his kid scream something like-

 

“D o n ‘ t   l e t   g o.”

 

Again.

  
And when they call him around lunchtime, he doesn’t even break a sweat answering the phone.

“Heya, kiddo.”

“Hi Sans.” Not sounding too much different from yesterday, he thinks. Still tired. But their next words are worth that much, pausing mid sip of a bottle of ketchup when they say: “I think I’ll be done soon.”

“Yeah? That’s pretty great, kid.” A bubble inside him pops; breathing isn’t necessary, so much. But he can breathe again. “How soon are we talking?”

“Um, tomorrow, I hope.” Not too certain, there, but not exceptionally so. Sans can at least accept the idea that they’ll be back within the next forty-eight hours; cutting it close, but not exactly the week he’d spent off in his own head. Not a pointed reminder that he’d left them to do this. “Hey...dad?”

“Yeah, kid?”

A pause on the over line, for a good while. When Frisk finally continues, they sound a tad husky. Words a little more wobbly, there.

“You’ll come pick me up, right?”

“I’ll be there before you can say ‘stuff’. Promise.”

“...Promise?”

“Yep. Promise. We’re gonna have a huge talk, just me and you, real soon...but right now, you need to save that battery. Can’t call me without it.”

“Okay. Um...soon. Really soon.”

“Really soon, then.”

It’s not until they’ve hung up that he stops and considers why their voice got funny, there.

 

Well, it’s been a weird day for both of them.

 

* * *

 

“So I was thinking,” He offers later that night, slumped over the kitchen table. Tori’s even earlier than the night before- if there’d been one good thing to come from that talk, he’d at least gotten her to agree that she needed to step back from things, just a little- and he’s pretty sure the reason she’s cooking spaghetti is all on him. He won’t complain at all. “You should take the day off tomorrow.”

She looks surprised for a moment, a delicate, if not tired laugh escaping her, and if he didn’t know what he did, Sans is pretty sure he would’ve been suggesting this anyway.

“Sans, it is already a Friday tomorrow. What sort of impression would I be making upon my faculty if I were to simply take the day off?”

“The impression of someone who works themselves to the bone and needs a break, tibia honest.” It gets a snort out of her, which, for the moment, may as well be as good as a laugh. “C’mon, Tori. It’s been a week. A month. An almost year. Think it’s time to stop rattling your bones for a moment.”

“You are losing your touch, my friend. That was, as the children would say...overkill.” He shrugs, smile wide as she takes the time to at least consider it. He’s expecting the initial rejection that follows. “However… I believe that perhaps now is not the optimal time for allowing my bones reprieve of ‘rattling’.”

She needs to be busy, is what she’s saying. Aware that if she slows down too much, has the time to think, she’ll fall apart.

“Well, we can make this real simple. Waste the night on movies and whatever; a real proper sleepover- you owe me one of those, _friend._ ” She’s outright staring at him now, and he- well yeah, he cares, but he’s in a good mood. As far as the past two weeks have gone, this is the best he’s had. Issue solved, another one soon to make its way back home... _“_ And tomorrow, we’ll figure out what else we wanna do. Howsaboutit?”

“I…” Yeah. She’s picking it up, glancing uncertainly to the stove, then back to him. Hands clasping together over her front in an uncertain motion. Too afraid to ask and even more afraid to hope. She puts a lot of faith in him sometimes, and he doesn’t know why she does it.

Deciding there’s nothing to forgive based on...him as a person, is a lot different than putting trust in him, instead. Big field of difference, actually.

But she trusts him anyway.

“I...suppose. Yes. You are right.”

Dinner is a very quiet affair, for some reason. Can’t imagine why, but every time she hesitantly meets his gaze, his smile grows wider.

Don’t let him down on this, kid. Be home tomorrow.

Frisk is usually the gap between the two of them on the couch; tonight, they may do with a bowl of popcorn that isn’t touched, and idle commentary that goes unrestricted. For once, his jokes are allowed to get downright dirty, and he doesn’t doubt he’s twisting the knife a little, here. She laughs, but every time she does, it’s with a pause at the end. A moment of guilt for enjoying herself that he gently pushes away.

Tori’s not a bad mom, for dealing with this all the way she has. She gets their kid; understands, in that same resigned, guilty manner that he does, that the kid left of their own accord, and will be back on the same line. They can’t force it to happen faster. They can only hope, and struggle, in their own ways, and maybe for one night, struggle a little together.

Make something out of this whole mess that might actually be a fond memory to look back on, in places. Without any ghosts in her eyes that he can’t bring himself to care for, and a space in the middle of the couch they both care about way too much.

The last time he sees the clock, it’s about five-thirty. She’s already asleep. One, quick email to the school’s reception, and that’s sorted; no one’s going to get mad at the boss, for one little sick day. There’s no record there to even try and claim she’s abusing her leave.

Then he...means to put her upstairs, where she’ll be comfortable. He means to.

 

Sans will forever state he is not the guy for this job. Role.

He kind of just got stuck with it, which is probably how it goes for most people in a family. It just happens, much like caring does. Deciding to stick around, and becoming so inherently used to seeing something as his that it doesn’t even click to him, when his kid says it, that dad is a pretty big word for them, probably about as much as it is for him.

S’what he gets for making promises. He cares, a very great deal.

Doesn’t mean he’s at all prepared to wake up in the afternoon, snug as a bug in a rug. Because Tori’s somehow managed to shift all the way into curling up against his side.

First instinct is to freeze. It always is and will be, with this lady. Sans counts to ten, makes that godforsaken kettle noise, as quietly as possible, then takes stock of the situation at hand. Looks like he’s a pretty accommodating sleeper, because he’s thrown his arm over her shoulder, let her settle her head onto his upper ribcage. It takes him...a good five minutes to look down, which- he knows what it does.

But when he finally does look, Sans is altogether glad he doesn’t breathe, and much more understanding of the term ‘breath taken’. The sun is shining outside, just low enough now to be streaking through the window across from them, and in the cheerful light, she glows.

It’s just light, of course. Light and the ability of clean, white fur to reflect whatever gets beamed onto it; he’s seen this a thousand times, will see this again tomorrow, maybe probably a few times over the course of today. It’s rarer for him since their time is often cut short, seeing as she has her work, her own obligations, and he has… well, he’s working on that. But it’s nothing new.

Still, this close? And the look on her face...

If he squints, he can pretend that’s a smile on her face, and everything’s fine.

Nothing’s missing at all.

And the moment could be ruined right there, by his own poisonous train of thought, but there’s one more aspect to this that he hasn’t accounted for yet, and Sans can’t even lie to himself. He was saving best for last. It’s enough, in its own weird, panic-inducing way, to wake up like this, but that blanket she’s got draped over herself (and to a slight extent, him. Got his legs covered, at least)? That’s his.

And as far as he can remember, last place this thing resided was in the cupboard, under the stairs. It wasn’t so cold that they’d had it out before falling asleep.

Which leaves him, for a few, brief moments, to the guilty, somewhat triumphant pondering of whether she’d gone to retrieve it, and just...decided to stay with him anyway.

Then his phone rings, ruining the mood forever, officially. He can’t even be mad at it, watching it jolt off the table and into his hand before Tori’s had the time to properly jerk awake, eyes slowly opening to look up at him as he gives one of her big (wow. _Really_ soft) ears a pet, and accepts the call.

He makes sure to move his arm before speaking.

“Heya, kiddo.”

Which is great, because the speed at which she sits off probably woulda taken it clean off.

“Hey, Sans.” There they are. They’re awake, this time; that’s a note of triumph in their voice, the same Determination they’ve always used, whenever they’ve decided to take up the mantle of handling ‘stuff’ on their own. He never doubted them for a second, even if they’re grounded until they’re fifty. “I’m ready. I want to come home.”

“Yeah? Figured you’d eventually start feeling _homely_.” Frisk groans in protest, loud enough for Toriel to hear, with her hands over her mouth and shoulders shaking. She doesn’t stem the tears, just lets them flow, and he’s got a word, somewhere, for the way she looks in the sunshine with her fur glowing and her eyes overflowing with uninhibited joy.

It attracts stares. More importantly, it attracts his. Every damn time. Sans stands, before she thinks to lean into him, and the inclination to move disappears entirely.

“Okay, kid. Where are you?”

“Mount Ebott.” Comes the answer; nice and easy. “At the barrier. So can you come pick me up pl-”

He snaps his phone shut, and Frisk almost leaps out of their skin. But they still lift their arms as they turn to face him, which is fantastic, because there’s absolutely nothing stopping him from picking them up and holding his kid as tightly as he damn well pleases, SOUL thrumming with- so many things.

There is a whole fuckton of shit that isn’t okay and probably won’t be for a good while. He, himself, is almost at the top of that list. He comes in third. Tori’s a good second, too- and then there’s this kid. Determination sensation, who can very well climb onto ceiling fans, and it’s no surprise they can hang on, too, not with a grip like that.

He’s got a lot to make up to them for, a lot of that being his fault- but he’s got a lot to make up to them for that isn’t. Dad is a big, heavy word for both of them, and he’s scared witless of it. Gonna be a good while before he allows anyone else to get away with using it, outside of Frisk and Paps, Tori.

But they- they have a few things to make up for, too. They have to start meeting him halfway; their mom halfway. It’s going to scare the hell out of them, but that’s trust, for you. That’s making promises.

That’s not letting go.

 

“Disgusting.” Says the kid’s sweater. And perhaps, yeah, Tori had made some implications that he needed to look into, for a long, long road to self-discovery...but uh. He’s pretty sure he’s not on the way to crazy down, side eyeing the suddenly very quiet child hiding their face in his shoulder before leaning back a little, trying to see what’s up-

Buttercup.

They share a look. A good, long look; flat expression going toe to toe with black pits for eyes, not breaking that gaze for a second as he speaks- but not to the flower.

Nah. He’s got a few words for the...determination sensation.

“Hey, so uh, you remember how I said we’re gonna have a huge talk? Because we’re gonna have a Huge Talk.”

And no, he hasn’t shown them the trick yet, either.

 

But stacking a couple hot dogs can wait.


End file.
